Randall made his way to the north side of town with Billy’s paper and pencil under his arm and his new blanket tossed over his shoulder. He was looking for the church and found it without much trouble, squat and without steeple as it was. A cemetery was surrounded by a short iron-spike fence on the east side of the church. Randall noted it and made a deliberate choice to approach from the west.

  He knocked on the green-painted doors and counted himself fortunate when the reverend answered.

  “Good morning, Padre,” he said, “I was hoping you would not begrudge me the use of a Bible.”

  “Of course not,” said the Reverend, beaming a huge smile. “I don’t believe we’ve met, friend, your face is new to me. Are you a recent arrival in town?”

  “Just passing through,” said Randall, “I’m a cowpuncher with the Larson outfit.”

  The smile on the Reverend’s face faltered, ever so slightly.

  “Oh,” he said, “You’re the fellas with the sick man.”

  “Yeah. It's on his account I came to see you. He is in a poor way and would like a Bible.”

  “Most assuredly,” said the Reverend, maintaining his smile though it seemed to Randall to have taken on a stiff, waxen quality, “The Word of the Lord is a comfort in all manner of trials. I will fetch one immediately.”

  “Thank you, kindly,” said Randall, and made a move as if to step inside the church but was halted by the upraised hand of the Reverend.

  “It would perhaps be best if you were to wait here,” said the Reverend, haltingly.

  “On account of my vapors?”

  “I don’t think I understand…”

  “I just have a lively discussion regarding vapors and excretions with Mr. Bunsall at the general store,” said Randall, “Speaking of, Reverend, between you and me, you may want to discuss Mr. Bunsall’s vocabulary with him if you get the chance. I just experienced him using some phrases of a highly profane nature.”

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  “Quite!” said the Reverend, smiling and nodding vacantly in a way that as sure as promised no such conversation would ever take place.

  “I’ll wait, Reverend. No sense infecting your church.”

  “Thank you, friend,” said the Reverend, clasping his hands before him in thankful platitude, “I’m sorry for the lack of hospitality. Normally, the house of the Lord is open to everyone but the risks being what they are… I’m sure you can understand.”

  “Quite.”

  The Reverend retrieved a Bible and Randall added it to the stack of paper under his arm.

  “I hope God can bring your friend some solace. Please tell your friend that all the thoughts and prayers of our little community are with him in this hour of his sufferings.”

  “Thank you, Reverend, I shall.”

  Randall turned to leave but then remembered, despite himself, the cemetery he had been so anxious to avoid on the other side of the church.

  “Say, Padre,” he said, “If this thing with Billy goes poorly, who would I see about having him buried in the cemetery here?”

  The Reverend shifted uncomfortably in the arch of the church doorway.

  “I’m just not sure that would be prudent, friend,” he said, “The pox is known to cling to folks even post mortem as I understand it. It's nothing against your friend, understand, but I don’t think it's fair to risk the safety of healthy folk to bury a contagious corpse in town.”

  “He’ll have to be buried somewhere.”

  “Ah,” the Reverend gulped.He seemed suddenly very hot in his fine black coat and stiff collar. “Victims of contagion are traditionally cremated,” he explained, “Along with their belongings.”

  Randall nodded. He understood the Reverend’s delicate phrasing. When Billy passed, the good folk of Lincolntown intended to burn the shack and Billy together. All the better to purge those foul vapors.

  “You know, Reverend,” said Randall, “I don’t know if Billy was much of a praying man but I suspect he would appreciate a visit from a man with God’s ear. I think it would do him a heap of good if you’d stop by and offer him some words.”

  The Reverend’s countenance collapsed. This, evidently, had been the question he had feared and Randall’s words shattered his hopes that the conversation would end before it occurred. That smiling facade, maintained at such efforts, finally wilted and fell away.

  “I- I don’t believe- I’m not sure that would be-,” said the Reverend, feeling his way for logic that had abandoned him.

  “Prudent?” asked Randall.

  The Reverend didn’t answer and that was all the confirmation Randall required.

  “Have a pleasant day, Reverend,” he said.